


Skin

by iriswesttt



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswesttt/pseuds/iriswesttt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry and Iris and the new scar she's got, courtesy of Tar Pit. Written as a reaction fic (to fill a prompt I got on tumblr) after "Fast Lane".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

Iris collapsed at her back, on their bed and Barry followed, un-interwinding their legs and laying by her side. She still panted for a minute or so, watching the shadow patterns the ceiling fan made against the soft summer sunset light coming through their still drape-less window. He noticed she had a habit of doing that, and he watched her, sweat glistening on her body, her nipples hard despite the warmth surrounding them, and her soft skin shining, reflecting the light, her chest rising and dropping in a slowing rhythm. She was the one thing that still managed to make him breathless, lightheaded even. She was still, even in a world of meta-humans and superpowers, the one impossible thing.

As the blood of Barry’s body redistributed back to its regular patter he silently traced her boobs, and she closed her eyes, which he took as an invitation, kissing her ear, her jaw line, her neck and her scar —  

“Stop it!”

“What?”

She sat up on the bed, her back at him, and he knew why, he just couldn’t help it, it was an uncontrollable urge to trace it and kiss it and feel it in every possible way. He figured Iris thought it was just guilt, even though he told her before it wasn’t. It was a bit of gratitude that it had healed, that it hit where it did and not an inch lower, it was a bit of admiration for the shape it had taken, a little like lightning (even though she kept saying she didn’t see it), and for the way it shined, surrounded by the pristine skin. But he had to admit it was guilt too. Sometimes it still envelop him and not even the gratitude could make it go away.

“You are obsessed with it and not in a good way”, she informed him.

He pulled her back down, giving her his best puppy eyes (not that it was much of a challenge to look at her like that) and whined; 

“Come on. Please?”

She didn’t answer, so he gave her a kiss, dawdling and eager, and tasting her lips reminded him of something he wanted to say earlier but more impending matters had stopped him from it;   

“You’ve got a new chapstick?”

She smiled sweetly into the kiss. He liked noticing everything and he took even more pleasure in knowing  _she_ liked him noticing everything. Iris answered him, muffled by his lips on hers;

“It’s some fancy lip balm Linda brought me back from Europe. It’s french”, and the way she raise her eye brows and smiled at him made  _french_  sound like the dirtiest word. 

“Tastes like honey and lemon.”

“It’s supposed to be tangerine.”

He gave a little lick, as to verify it and insisted;

“Well, tastes like honey and lemon to me.”

She flopped them, pinning him down to the mattress, kissing him again before informing him;

“You, on the other hand, taste like pussy.”

“Your pussy”, he added, making her laugh, he truly loved making her laugh, before she said, in a threatening tone;

“It better be mine.”

He raised to meet his lips to her neck and it automatically found its way to her scar once again.

“Barry!” She pushed him back down and it was more aggressive than strictly necessary, but he could work with it, he was about to make a joke, ask her if she wanted to play rough, but something in her eyes diverged him from his strategy;

“For the record, I think it’s very pretty.”

“That’s not why you’re kissing it.”

He tried rising again but her hands on his chest held him down, he tried raising his hands to it instead, and she allowed it, so he told her;

“It’s really pretty, I like the shape and the silver shine.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a little grin on her lips when she questioned him;

“Shine?”

“Yeah, a little silver, just like your stretch marks. I love your stretch marks as well”, he said, padding his fingers on her boobs, then cupping them.

“That I know why you kiss.”

“Cause it’s pretty?”

“Because it’s in the boobs and the ass and the hips.”

“All really good places to kiss but I do think they’re pretty”, he said, traveling his hands over her skin; “You are all pretty.”

He took advantage of the fact the compliment made her let her guard down for little while to flip her back under him. As Barry lowered for another kiss Iris stopped him, stretching her arms to hold him in place, and told him, seriously; 

“You have to stop blaming yourself for things you can’t control.”

“You’re always telling me that.”

“Because you never listen.”

She finally allowed him to kiss her and he reasoned with her;

“It was so close though.”

She smiled wickedly as she asked;

“To the boob?”

He could’t find humour at her joke. She could have died and he wouldn’t have been fast enough to save her.

“To the heart.”

Her grin dropped as she pulled him away by the hair and ordered;

“You have to let go, Barry”

He feigned pain as he asked; 

“Wow! Ok! Can you let go of my hair?” and as she did he informed her; “By the way I love your other scars too.”

She rolled her eyes to it, shaking her head, and he kissed his way through them, saying;

“The appendicitis one, the one from the time you fell off the skate”, which was on her inner tight. Iris had landed on a tree branch that day, and Barry had never yelled as loud as he did when he called Joe, who was back inside the house, petrified by amount of blood that suddenly filled her clothes, not knowing if he should leave her to get Joe or stay with her, and all Iris did was whine about the hole that had ruined her favourite shorts while the thing was stuck inside her thigh.

“The chickenpox one”, he continued, she had given it to him when they were in 4th grade and they both spend the week itching like hell while his mom, who took care of both of them while they couldn’t go back to school, kept telling them they were going to scar. 

That last one was barely visible. It had faded to nothingness during the years, which she pointed out now. But it was right by her upper lip, so he took gladly as an excuse to kiss it. “And I was there every time”, he concluded.

She smiled back at him, as something sweet filled her eyes, brushing his hair off his forehead, and for a moment there was no room for guilt, just gratefulness as she confirmed;

“Yes, you were.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr iriswestthings


End file.
